


Fleeting Thanks

by muddy_puddles



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: A Voice in The Dark, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Runner Five, Mute Runner Five, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Some angst, Surprise Kissing, mention of a voice in the dark, mention of s1m9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 14:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muddy_puddles/pseuds/muddy_puddles
Summary: Sam Yao is used to runners being appreciative when he helps get them back home in one piece. But with Five it's different.Still, they find a way to show their appriciation, and Sam finds himself quite enjoying it...SFW IT'S TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF Y'ALL





	Fleeting Thanks

_ You saved my life _, they sign, and although his head spins so much that it’s hard for him to focus, he can still see their smirk. His throat burned from the alcohol, reminding him of every stupid shot he’d knocked back that night. He hadn’t meant to get drunk, but the runners were celebrating: no occasion to speak of other than being alive. 

His eyes vibrated in his skull as he concentrated on their smile. A step forward and their hands were either side of his face. His back hit the wall of the shack, windowpane digging into his lower back. When their lips pressed against his he was thankful that his legs managed to keep him upright. 

Their mouth against his made his core hum and sing. Warmth heated his face, burning his ears, hands jittery as he clutched their waist for support. Their lips were so sweet and delicious, they were like nectar. 

All too soon it was over. He stared at them as they leant up, pressing another kiss to his forehead, and waved him goodnight. His voice returned to him rapidly as he watched them walk away, building in his throat and spilling out before he could stop it.

“The hell was that?” He called, wincing at the slurring in his voice. Their shoulders hunched with laughter. They turned, hands lifting to effortlessly sign ‘_ a thank you _’. That charming smile lifted the mouth that had just been pressed flush against his, ensnaring his gaze.

He considered going after them.

“A ‘thank you’?” He repeated. They winked at him, turning and heading back towards their tent; the way their hips swung gracefully, made him wonder if they wanted his longing. “Well, will there be _ more _?!” 

***

_ You saved my life _, they sign, hands fumbling and clumsy from exertion. A layer of grime coated their bare legs and arms, face scratched and palms grazed. Their eyelashes fluttered from the effort of staying awake. They repeat themselves, brow creased with concentration.

_ You. Saved. My. Life. _

He hadn’t done anything - not really. He’d sat at his desk and talked. Talked for hours with no knowing if they could hear through their headset, not even sure if they were still alive. But he’d hoped. He’d prayed. And then he’d spotted them racing towards the gates, legs pumping with the last of their strength.

They’re dead weight against him. Their legs have given up supporting them after running all night to get home. They shuddered with every rasped breath, shoulders hunching as they dragged in each lungful. He grunted and hauled them upright, yelling for somebody to get the doctor as they go slack in his arms. But they’re still signing.

_ You. Saved. My. Life. _

He can see the effort of it, how their hands tremble with every gesture. And then they’re tilting their face towards his. A ghost of a kiss, barely a breath against his lips, so gentle he was already forgetting the warmth of it. And then they’re out cold. 

***

_ You saved my life _, they sign, and his heart skips a beat. They lean there, arms crossed, resting comfortably against his comms desk, skin looking soft and clean, eyelashes still stuck together after their decontamination shower. They’d come straight here after their run, to his scruffy, hovel of a hut. He wished he’d made the effort to tidy up more often. There was a patch of dried marmite on the desk, right beside where they leant. But they didn’t seem to care. He realised by their smirk that they both knew what was coming next.

But he was working. He still had runners in the field, runners whose lives depended on him, so he dragged his eyes away from his guest and back to the screens, tongue thick in his mouth as he stumbled over his instructions: next left, Jody. Zoms to the east. Stay out of those trees. Run. His voice was steady, eyes focused, and yet constantly he’s aware of his runner standing right _ there _. His peripheral grants him the sight of that steady smirk they wear as they wait, driving him crazy and making his stomach twist with anticipation. He wills for this mission to end, and soon. He’s desperate to throw down his headset and turn to them for his reward. But both of them know he has more than one runner to save.

Only when his last one stumbles through the gates, the pop of gunfire picking off any shamblers, and he’s certain that everybody is safe does he reach up to push his headset off. He lets it hang around his neck, eyes lifting almost expectantly, and he sees the amusement in their eyes as they lean forward. A hand on either arm of his computer chair, and he’s trapped where he sits.

And their mouth tastes like toothpaste, and their lips are warm against his, and he reaches for them but it’s over already. He wants to curse them: they waited for him to be ready, they kept him tense and eager and distracted until all his runners were home, and the kiss was just as fleeting as it had always been. His eyes graze their lips, hungry for more, but they're straightening up again, winking playfully, before turning and heading for the door. This thank you left him reeling, left him gazing after them, yearning they saw all too clearly when they looked back. Laughter filled their eyes, maddening laughter, and he forced his voice to come. 

“You’re teasing me, ” he accused as they ducked through the door, and he saw their shoulders lift with laughter as they walked away. 

***

_You saved my life_, they sign, and he automatically lifted his face to meet theirs with a hum. The two of them were alone in the rec room, and it was coming up to curfew, but they still stole this moment to thank him. A brief brush of the lips, a press of heat, and then they were turning back to their book. His eyes lingered, watching as their lips quirked when he didn't look away.

Half the time he wasn't entirely sure about when exactly he had saved their life to warrant such thank yous. They never indulged into when or where, and he dared not question it should they stop. He frowned as he watched them, putting aside his book as he leant towards them, forcing out the question that had been haunting him for weeks now. 

“Do you thank everyone who saves your life?” he blurts, and instantly hates himself for how accusing his tone comes across. But he can't help but wonder. Runner 3 has saved their lives a couple of times. Runner 8, too. Heck, all the runners had saved each other at one point or another. Part of him just doesn't like the thought that these thank yous, quick and fleeting as they were, weren't reserved purely for him.

His runner's eyes meet his over the pages of their book, brow quirked with surprised, and even though he tells himself he wouldn't care if they share their thank yous, his palpitations suggested otherwise. Rolling their eyes at his question, they snap their book shut so suddenly it makes him flinch. With a huff, they stand. 

For a moment he wonders if they're even going to answer him.

_ You're an idiot_, they sign, and his breath leaves him quickly. 

Its probably the best response he could have hoped for. He can tell by the way their nose wrinkles as they picture thanking somebody else does not appeal to them. He was surprised by how relieved that made him. Relieved enough to make him want to stand up and pull them into his arms and press a million thank yous to their mouth in return. But it was their curfew, and they were both up early for a mission, so instead, he simply watched them walk away with warmth in his chest and a grin he couldn't contain.

***

_ You saved my life, _they sign, and his heart clenches.

They tremble where they sit, eyes wide and glazed, stinking of dirt and smoke and fear. He hears their breath rattling inside them. Gore cakes their trainers, their shirt scorched in places. It’s a miracle that they’d made it back alive.

Around the two of them, the hospital tent was heaving. The injured and the dying wailed and moaned around them, sobs echoing through the night. Others hadn’t been as lucky. Others had lost those they cared about.

This time it had been too close. For one, devastating moment, he thought he’d lost them. The tears he’d shed were dried reminders against his cheeks, and his hands hadn’t stopped shaking for hours. His throat was still raw from when he’d been yelling for them, begging them to get out of there, pleading for them to run. As always, they had fought with every ounce of strength they’d had.

When they’d stumbled through the gates that night, he’d put his head on his arms and sobbed with relief.

_ You saved my life. _

Now is not the time. When they lean forward almost automatically, he catches their shoulders and holds them at arm's length. Those glazed eyes flicker to him, shined with tears, confused and a little hurt. But he can’t. Not now. Not whilst they’re like this. Not when they need to heal.

“Thank me later,” he rasps, reaching to move their singed hair from their eyes, and a pause of understanding passes between them. A rattling breath and they’re slumping against his shoulder, pressing their face against his collar. Their body shudders with sobs. He hugs them tight, gulping in that smokey smell of their hair as their hands clutch his hoodie. He closes his eyes and concentrates of their heat against him and tells himself they’re safe.

***

“You saved my life,” he says standing in the doorway of the tent. He’s caught them alone, a rarity nowadays, since there always seems to be someone around, someone needing one of them, or both. His eyes drinks in the sight of them as they turn, frowning, looking confused at his words. He'd caught them at the best possible time: they were off duty today. No need for them to go outside the gates. They'd been spending their free time reorganising their bunk - a job that often got overlooked when there was so much more pressing matters to attend to. 

With a flick of their wrist, they gesture a simple question: _ when _?

And he wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. It would be just like them to be so oblivious to all the good they were doing for everyone in their township daily. Every time they stumbled through those gates, rucksack brimming with antibiotics, or tinned food, or bottled water - did they not realise how many lives they were saving? Board games and books and music - every silly little toy they carried through those gates does wonders for the morale of the township. They never hesitated as they burst into the red zones, rattling their noisemakers to attract hordes of the undead, playing decoy to protect their township almost daily. Their own life, their own safety, was nothing to them. They put it all on the line to protect their home. To protect him.

Yet they stood there, that gentle frown on their face, and he realised that they truly didn't know. 

When! He laughed, for he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t tell them when. But he could show them. 

He stepped towards them, hands coming to their cheeks as he leant and covered their mouth with his own. He lets that thank you linger, long and slow, lips moving against lips. 

This was for the time they’d brought back antibiotics. 

When he broke the kiss, it was only for a breath. Their eyelashes fluttered, but he wasn’t finished. He pressed his lips against their mouth once more, this time firmer, this time thanking them for the time they raided a supermarket for fuel. People would have frozen that week without the heat from those fires.

Another kiss thanked them for the tins of food they brought home a few days ago, grinning and sweaty, brandishing a jar of Marmite like a trophy, unaware of the starvation they’d just prevented. 

Another for the water purifiers they’d found in a camping store.

Their body leant into his, arms moving around his shoulders as kiss followed kiss, firm kisses and lingering kisses and kisses he didn’t really know who started. There wouldn’t be enough kisses they could share for all the thank yous he had for them. But he was willing to try. 

And then they were laughing, mouth smirking and shoulders shaking as he hugged them tight against him, pressing hidden thank yous against their cheeks and their throat and their shoulders, thanking them for every dark thought they’d chased away with that smile of theirs and every moment were they showed him that life could still be bright. 

“You saved my life,” he whispered, and the warmth of those words bloomed through him, burning so hot he was certain they’d feel it too. 

_ You saved my life _, they echo, cheeks flushed with amusement, nose wrinkled with laughter.

He leant forward and thanked them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao this is literally the first piece of fanfiction I've written in ten years and I'm not going to lie I barely edited this because it was a mess but it helped pass time on my breaks in work so enjoy I guess :') Not expecting anything from this, but if only one person likes it, then I've done a good job I guess ?? Let me know what you think <3


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